


In which Sirius thinks a bit too much about a werewolf boy

by svenskiovich



Series: In which Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are in love [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Give them time, M/M, Sirius/Remus only lightly implied here, baby Marauders, but they're baby marauders right now ok, don't get me wrong I am obsessed with Sirius/Remus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12157395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svenskiovich/pseuds/svenskiovich
Summary: Sirius couldn’t sleep that night, and James’ snores, drifting gently from his nearby four-poster bed, were only making it worse. Sirius was supposed to be the one who slept soundly, no matter what they’d pulled that day, no matter what sort of doom hung over their heads—the luxuriant rest of the wicked. James was the one withscruples.





	In which Sirius thinks a bit too much about a werewolf boy

Sirius couldn’t sleep that night, and James’ snores, drifting gently from his nearby four-poster bed, were only making it worse. Sirius was supposed to be the one who slept soundly, no matter what they’d pulled that day, no matter what sort of doom hung over their heads—the luxuriant rest of the wicked. James was the one with _scruples_ —“Why don’t you lay off Peter for awhile—maybe we should invite him somewhere”—“You know McGonagall’ll give you hell if you cheat again”—“He’s a pathetic little prick, but you don’t have to let him _get_ to you.” James should’ve been the one worrying about this. Not just because of the scruples thing, but because it was his fault they’d even figured out what Remus was hiding, his fault that they’d pulled Remus into their orbit in the first place. They didn’t _need_ him—they were Sirius and James, the dastardly duo. Sirius could wear down almost anyone with his charm—one time he’d winked winningly at Severus in the dining hall just to watch the greasy git drop his fork—but he didn’t need many actual friends. In fact, before he came to Hogwarts, he didn’t think he needed any at all. 

Remus was James’ little project. James was the one who thought they should go the library with the kid who brought a fistful of pencils to class in addition to quills, because heaven forbid he miss a single factoid old Binns warbled out about goblin repression, when Sirius wanted to spend the night trying to sneak into the kitchens. Granted, Remus was right that there was a secret passage behind one of the stacks, but still. Sirius didn’t like going to bed hungry. James was the one who insisted on inviting Remus along everywhere, even when they snuck onto the roof and Remus held them up insisting that it _wasn’t safe_ and that there was probably some kind of ancient magic up there to ward off intruders. 

And James was the one who’d insisted there was something fishy going on when Remus’ mother kept getting sick; Sirius knew enough about demanding, hypochondriac mothers to think they should leave well enough alone. And now they knew Remus’ secret, knew what actually happened to him every full moon, and the shock of it still coursed through him. The sandy-haired kid was a plague-carrier, one of the dark things from the bedtime stories his loathsome grandfather had told him and Regulus. A beast that bloodied the night, an ancient evil—Remus. And now, in the middle of the night safe in his dormitory, Sirius was still stuck on this dichotomy—the sandy-haired kid and the hungry wolf—and James was asleep.

The problem wasn’t exactly a revulsion at the thought of a _werewolf_ —he’d felt that, certainly, but if Sirius hated everyone he’d been raised to hate, he wouldn’t have time for breakfast. Watching Regulus carefully picking a spot in class that wasn’t adjacent to any Muggleborns had once made Sirius anxious, as if it meant Sirius was doing something wrong, but now it just made him snort in derision. The problem wasn’t the specter, the idea of a werewolf. It was the look on Remus’ face when they’d seen him taken away earlier that day. Remus was Sirius’ age, but he looked like a little boy, then. A boy with a light dusting of freckles on his cheeks, shivering in an oversized coat, not knowing what to say. He’d looked back at them, like they could do something about it, like they could save them, before the men marched him toward the willow through the snow. Sirius and James had just watched them go, until Remus was a black smudge on the white grounds, even though Filch had already threatened them with detention for being out late. Sirius hardly had to imagine what it was like, because he already knew what Remus was like when he came back—had seen it every month for almost a year now—hungry and untrusting, with faint new scars that Madam Pomfrey hadn’t been able to erase. It was what Sirius felt like when he had to go home, but he only had to do that a few times a year—even less now that the Potters had starting inviting him for holidays. The place Remus couldn’t get away from was himself.

Sirius grabbed his pillow and threw it convulsively at Remus’ empty bed. It whumphed into a curtain, and the rod rang dully.

“’Sthat?” James slurred.

“Troop of inferi,” Sirius said fractiously—James didn’t like anyone knowing that one of his biggest fears was reanimated corpses.

“Huh?”

“Can’t you see the flames?” Sirius saw a glint as James grabbed his glasses. There was a pause. Then:

“You are the worst friend.” Sirius laughed—a little too loudly, because he heard Peter stir across the room. He lowered his voice.

“Alright, no undead. Go back to bed, sweet baby James.”

“Not if you’re up to something.” Sirius smiled. That was one of the great things about James. He never let you get in trouble alone. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing yet.” There was a dragging sound as James closed the curtains around his four-poster bed. 

“Come on, then,” he said, muffled. Sirius grabbed the dim Muggle torch they’d smuggled in so they didn’t wake up the whole room with _Lumos_ , clicked it on, and slipped between the curtains around James’ bed. It was the way they always planned things, at least before James had started dragging Remus along to everything. Sirius glimpsed James’ hair looking even more disheveled than usual in the wavering light as he sat cross-legged at the end of the bed. “Any good ideas? I need something to distract me from…you know. Today.” Sirius raised his eyebrows in the darkness.

“Something to distract you?”

“Yeah. So I don’t have to think about, you know.” He paused, then plunged on. “How all this time I’ve been sleeping three feet away from a bloody werewolf.” James laughed a little, like he’d made a joke. Sirius felt a flash of something unpleasant. “We used to play this game in elementary school where the werewolf had to try and turn you. Only one werewolf, but he always won.”

“I think you’d’ve noticed if your roommate had turned into a wolf and bit you.” Sirius said coolly.

“I didn’t mean—it’s just a lot, you know? _You_ know.” Sirius couldn’t quite see his friend’s face in the half-light. “I wouldn’t tell _him_ it’s weird. Really, we don’t have to talk about it ever again, if he doesn’t want.” Sirius felt his throat constrict with something—anger. He didn’t know what to do with it. Normally he’d say something savage about someone who wasn’t there, someone like Remus.

“Well that’s pretty shitty,” he said instead. He felt James balk.

“Huh?”

“You afraid of the big bad wolf? Because personally, I find it hard to be scared of someone who carries around his own mini chalkboard.” James paused.

“I didn’t mean—it’s nothing against him.”

“It’s nothing against him that you think sleeping in the same room as him is a safety hazard?” He knew he was being too loud—James held up a hand in caution. It suddenly felt too hot, too close, inside the curtains—Sirius slipped back out and threw himself roughly onto his own bed.

“ _Sirius_ ,” James hissed. Sirius clicked off the torch. “Sirius, I didn’t mean—“

“Bugger off.” He heard James lay huffily back down. 

Good.

But also bad.

Everything was worse now. James was being a self-righteous prat and Remus was trapped somewhere, monstrous and alone. And Sirius couldn’t find his pillow.

He’d thrown it at Remus’ bed, he realized. He waited until James was bound to be asleep again and then carefully got up and shuffled over on the cold flagstone to Remus’ little corner.

“Sirius,” James hissed again. “What are you doing?” Sirius turned to see the dim outline of his friend sitting on the edge of his bed, not asleep.

“I’m trying to infect myself with wolf venom so I can put you out of your misery.”

“Come off it.”

“Awoo!” Sirius howled quietly. Miraculously, James snorted in laughter.

“Please,” came Peter’s voice querulously from the other side of the room. “Please will you two _go to bed_.” James disappeared back behind the curtains, and Sirius found his pillow wedged between Remus’ bed and the wall. “Thank you,” Peter said sanctimoniously.

“I’ll bite you too,” Sirius growled, and he could swear he heard James laughing again. Without really thinking about why, he curled up on Remus bed—it was exactly like his own four-poster but also different in some indistinguishable way. Maybe just because he had two pillows now. Two pillows was nice.

“Sirius, is that you messing around? Do I have to go get a Prefect?” 

“Good night, Peter,” Sirius called liltingly, suddenly feeling too sleepy to move. “Don’t let the werewolves bite.”


End file.
